


politics of the body

by Khapsized



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, country fairs make us forever young, for the gabriel to my michael, new orleans references like woah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-07 00:25:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khapsized/pseuds/Khapsized
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots from purgatory.</p>
<p>Right before New Orleans, where Castiel, Lucifer, and Gabriel once walked as footsoldiers, there is a carnival. He and Dean take their shoes off while sitting on the hood of the Impala and go running straight into the long, tall grass. It’s dark, the sun is hiding, it’s nighttime. Castiel has not been afraid of the dark for a long time but something pings sharp inside his heart when Dean catches him by the belt, hands wet with dew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	politics of the body

**Author's Note:**

  * For [futureandonce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/futureandonce/gifts).



> Ok quick note. This was written PRIOR to SGr8's release, so it's now voided by Edlund's depiction of purgatory. I was using 'purgatory' as a way to view and relive past transgressions; a sort of way to right wrongs.

There is no name for this, no x to mark the spot where shoulder meets neck, nothing innocent in the way sweat rolls down Castiel’s shoulder. There isn’t salvation in Dean’s touch, Castiel doesn’t pretend there is, but he craves for it all the same. They are a bad idea, desire attention, and never get it in the way they want. Somewhere outside the place that once was Oklahoma, Castiel pulls Dean inside a Laundromat, curves a hand over his hip, his ruddy golden hair like flax under a fizzing light. His face is sticky, chin coated, and still he does not kneel.

This is not sinful.

 

Creation has long since lain with one another. Carnality was a matter of time. Since Crowley, (crawley) in the garden of Eden, man has not had a chance for the holy land. Castiel has known holy fire, has felt sigils and flames licking their way up his body, has put them there himself. He is ageless, cannot be bothered by such trivialities, until Dean Winchester with emerald eyes and a heart big enough to fit an entire roadmap of the continental United States inside.

South Dakota feels like Eden. For one there is Dean, for another there are hundreds of greasy spoons per square mile. Rusty stop-house bathrooms and they’ve christened every one. At first it felt like Castiel was craving subjugation, but now it just feels a lot like lust.

He gets used to aching.

 

Right before New Orleans, where Castiel, Lucifer, and Gabriel once walked as footsoldiers, there is a carnival. He and Dean take their shoes off while sitting on the hood of the Impala and go running straight into the long, tall grass. It’s dark, the sun is hiding, it’s nighttime. Castiel has not been afraid of the dark for a long time but something pings sharp inside his heart when Dean catches him by the belt, hands wet with dew.

 

A fair, Dean says. An old-fashioned one, real nice, you’ll like it Cas.

 

He’s driving, easy, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbow and the only thing clean on him is his hands at ten and two on the wheel. There’s something rough on the radio. The Impala isn’t as impeccable as she used to be. This is purgatory. This is their lives now.

 

The people in purgatory do not have faces. This was alarming at first, no eyes or nose or mouth, but they’ve learned to deal with it. There’s a small glitch outside of Utah, a little rip in the fabric separating two worlds. For a second Castiel can see father, can see his brothers. The glimpse leaves him unsettled. Dean cannot see it. This is his penance. This is purgatory.

 

When Castiel was in his early years he remembers everyone as taller than him. It was not unusual for one of his brothers to tower over him, scoop him up into strong arms, comfort him when some of humanity managed to bleed through. Most of the time the brothers that really loved him the most just gave him space.

 

Dean does none of this, does not notice when Castiel seems distant, except for when he does. His ideas of distractions are always fairs, roadside produce stands. Diners. It’s a relapse, and Castiel feels like he’s eaten enough mashed potatoes to make up for a life of not having needed food at all.

 

This is purgatory. It isn’t so bad.

 

**

 

At first, Dean is inconsolable. He has not been apart from Sam for more than days since last time. He wears a shirt of his that is too big in the shoulders, too long in the tail.

  
His eyes look like oil slicks in the road and Castiel does not mention it.

 

**

 

There is a current inside Castiel, forever thrumming, a live wire, a downed cord, something electric, a thirst only calmed by touch, volcano dormanted by love.

 

This may be a metaphor. He’s tired of running.

 

**

 

Purgatory smells like blood. Thick and coppery. It coats Castiel’s throat, and still he does not speak of it.

 

Dean Winchester, fighter of demons, purveyor of hearts, misses his brother Sam.

 

Castiel, Former Angel of the Lord and former Lord himself, omnipotent and all encompassing, misses him too.

 

**

 

Every night when they sleep, Castiel, who is not used to dreaming, does it the wrong way, with eyes open and body rigid.

 

In the morning he has trouble looking at Dean, whole and alive.

The end draws closer every day.

 

**

 

They fuck in Albuquerque. Dean wants to see the Rio Grande. It’s late, almost midnight before they pull up outside a motel. The matron has no face. There are no surprises. When Dean comes out of the shower he has a towel around his hips. Castiel feels a slow moving inside him, his electric wire come alight again, and when Dean presses him to the sheets Castiel will not beg. Until he does. He begs and as Dean rocks into him, causes things to sizzle like the sugar coated fizzing candy they had in New Orleans, he looks upward. Thinks. Thinks, I bet father would kill me if he saw me like this. He turns his face into Dean’s neck, feels sweat, feels something sweet, and when he comes, all he can hear is the sound of a motor running.

 

The sound of pavement can only be likened to salvation.


End file.
